Slip
by Decidedly Average
Summary: "You move on, and no one sees you slip. Only Harry."- A series of chapters based on quotes from Silent Witness Series 16.
1. Does Science Really Feel?

**Hi Guys!**

**How did everyone enjoy last night? I don't think it's the same without Harry :(**

**So this is a little something I've decided to do, this may be it, done, or it may continue, depending on what the series brings us! Basically, I found a few of the things Nikki said last night quite interesting, so I thought I'd give Tim Prager (the wee H/N shipper that he is!) a helping hand by coming up with some subtexts! And you know how I love angst!**

**Don't worry if you're confused! I'll explain as I go along!**

**Please review if you have time and you enjoyed it!**

* * *

_"Does science really feel?"_

**This was a very small moment, a sort of, blink and you'll miss it, moment. Nikki said this to Jack when they were all sitting in Leo's office, just after Leo met Jack. However, I though it was quite relevant and it gave me an idea of how she's feeling now. **

* * *

You are a rationalist. A realist. A scientist. A thinker.

What gives _you_ the right to_ love_?

Perhaps you're being punished. By rights you shouldn't even believe in the existence of such things.

You only believe in what you can _test for, _what you can _see; _hormones, chemicals, endorphins.

To see it reflected in someone else's eyes just isn't enough. Or it shouldn't be enough.

You couldn't have been in love with him. That is a ridiculous concept. Something that the complex human mind has made up to make reproducing sound more romantic. To inject some colour into their mundane lives.

Every so often, that belief slips. After you met_ him_.

_Jack?_ You called into the darkness. You had heard the door and simply assumed it would be him.

_Yeah?_ Sure enough, his voice bounced back from the wall of shadow, preventing you from seeing him fully. He had frowned when he steps into the light, watching you sit, feet on your desk chair, hunkered over on the desk.

_Do you believe in feelings? _You had asked, quite enigmatically.

He looked at you as if to say, _what feelings exactly? _And raised an eyebrow as if in the hope that they might be for _him._ He backed off slightly when you said simply, _Love._

_Well, _he started, and you couldn't help trusting him, believing in him, despite him being a decade your junior. _It's a bunch of chemicals, but people have to give that a name, don't they? To make them understand? So why, just because we know the ingredients that make the cake, should we not eat it just like everyone else?_

Your smile seemed to satisfy him and he swaggered off.

A tiny inch of you hopes he's wrong.

The rest of you knows that he isn't.


	2. We agreed to move on

_"We agreed to move on…so move on."_

**Self explanatory really. She really doesn't want to talk about him, does she? But something at to have happened to make her say this, something had to have happened to make them 'agree' to move on. And this is my take on it.**

* * *

He had asked if you wanted a few days off. He had said it was because you hadn't had a holiday so far this academic year, but you knew why it really was. And you had refused; dignified and calm, you had thanked him, but you'd manage all the same.

You didn't expect it to be as hard as it was.

That first day without _Harry_.

The Lyell centre seemed just that little bit darker somehow, shadows licked at the walls and curled themselves around the legs of your desks, crawling up the sides of your chair and into your mind. They frightened you, and it made it almost impossible to _think_.

And so, unable to think, you turned to laborious, manual jobs instead. He walked in to find you dusting Harry's desk, and dusting again, not leaving an inch untouched.

_Nikki…_He had said, sympathetically, though there was pain in his voice too. And you couldn't stand it, you couldn't hear him like that. People used to use that tone with you when your Mother died, mainly high-flying friends of your Father's who had never cared for you before in the slightest. It made you feel almost embarrassed and uncomfortable with your emotions. When Leo uses it, it makes you feel weak, it makes you want to crumble, and before your lip has time to tremble, you begin to talk, to drown him out, to drown out the atmosphere, to chase away the shadows.

_Can't remember the last time he cleaned this. _You complain. _Probably never. So I'm cleaning it now. _You state._ I can't work while everything is this filthy-_

He cuts you off then, using his _assertive boss_ tone; gentle still, but firm.

He asks _Are you coping okay? _When you don't answer, choosing instead to rattle some stationary around, he asks _Did you and Harry talk before he left? _You shut out the mention of his name, you can't, you _won't_ hear his name. But Leo won't let it go. He insists _Harry cared a great deal for you, that's why I can't understand – _

It is your turn to cut him off. On the mention of his name for the second time, your hand – still vigorously swiping at the desk before you – slips, hits his abandoned mug and sends it flying to the floor. Leo is silenced by the ear-tingling smash as it hits the office floor.

_Slip._

_I don't want to hear anymore, _You say, calmly. One slip, but you remain composed. _Can we agree to just…just move on from this! _

For a moment, Leo simply stares and you wonder if you have given yourself away. You swallow, hard and blink a few times, before conjuring up your most relaxed, contented smile you can muster.

After a while he says _Okay, lets move on._

You hold your freezing fingers in your palms, soothing, holding them still to quell the shaking. You tell him that you'll go and get a broom to clean up.

_No. _Leo protests. _I'll get it…Accidents happen._


	3. Everything to do with him

_ "It's nothing to do with you and everything to do with him."_

__**Now I don't know about anyone else, but before she said this (to Leo) I thought she was coping remarkably well. But this sounds really, _really _bitter. It sounds like she's angry, she's blaming him, and I think if there was a point where she slipped up in the whole episode, it was here. So here's the reason Nikki said what she did.**

* * *

You move on, and no one sees you slip. Only _Harry_.

_Nikki? _He said, hesitantly, having followed you into the locker room, _Talk to me?_

You remained with your back to him, your head lowered, trying to make sense of what had just happened. What he had just told you….and _Leo_. He told you and Leo at the same time, and he had no idea how_ embarrassing_ that had been. You poured your heart out to Leo, you told him how _everyone _always knew the two of you would end with a fairytale. And then he goes and says something like that.

You swallow down the lump in your throat temporarily, and speak, still with your back turned. _A full professorship in New York? _You asked. _That's pretty amazing. Yeah. _He agreed. _It is. In fact, I think it's the most amazing thing to ever happen to me in my entire life. _He continued.

And you spun right round one-hundred and eighty degrees to face him, and you could feel the lump rising to your throat again, constricting your speech and bringing the tears with it, and they traveled further, right to your eyes, where they waited on your eyelids, teetering.

_And is it?_ You had asked him, and he didn't seem to understand. _And there is nothing here that is better? There is nothing here that you want more than that? _You had elaborated as best you could, but the tears had come and soon enough so many had fallen it felt like you were drowning. Did they make him feel guilty, or regretful, you had never been sure, but your tears had seemed to anger him. He had lifted his arms. _Look around you, Nikki, _he ordered. _This is all I have, and it isn't even mine! I'm pushing forty and what have I got to show for it?! Yes, I had the potential to have…everything here. But I don't. So I'm going elsewhere. _He had become quiet and couldn't seem to look you in the eye. Out of the corner of your eye, you had seen a lab-tech listening in at the door.

You had decided in that moment not to make a scene. It was too late, anyway.

So instead you did what you do best.

You asked him, eyes still shining with tears uncried and words unsaid, _You really want this?_

He still wouldn't look at you, he had nodded all the same.

_Then I'm happy for you, _you exclaimed. And he had looked up then and asked if you were serious, to which you had nodded quickly. It was your turn not to look him in the eye.

Then he had embraced you, and although he still had weeks left with you, it was to be the very last time. Perhaps he had known that at the time; that you had lied to him through your teeth and that after that day, you wouldn't bear to touch him again and that's why he had held you for so long. You had stood in the centre of the cutting room, with your arms around him, his arms around you, for what must have been the best part of fifteen minutes; lips and cheeks, pressed to bare skin.

And then you had both simply re-entered Leo's office.

He had asked, _All okay?_

_Yeah, _Harry at said immediately, _we're absolutely fine._

And you smiled through the agony.


	4. Too embarrassed to say the nice things

_"We're just too embarrassed to say the nice things that we think…Or to hear them."_

**This just seemed to me to be a strange thing to say. Nikki said this to Leo at the beginning during their office talk and I interpreted it as something that had perhaps happened before, made her say this. Perhaps she's learned from it. Sounded a bit regretful to me.**

* * *

_Now, tell me Dr A…_He was being a wind-up again. She had known him long enough to tell by the way he held himself; chair back right back, legs crossed, an ankle resting on the opposite knee, hands clasped at his groin…_How on earth do you get your hair to look that gorgeous?_

Despite your smirk, you had rolled your eyes, though you had swung your hair slightly as you sat down, allowing your hair to gently bounce from one shoulder to another as you settled opposite him. You asked, cynical as ever, _What are you after?_

He had scoffed at this. Feigning hurt. _What? _He exclaimed. _Isn't a man allowed to pay a young lady a compliment from time to time?_

This time you couldn't repress a giggle. _Young? _You questioned, raising an eyebrow. _You must be really after something!_

_You're right. _He said. _Can I use your stapler?_

_After last time? _You quipped. _Certainly not._

He fell silent after that, but you could feel him looking at you, that expression; somewhere in between _lustful _and _playful _and just_ loving_. He had looked at you in that way many a time and you never missed an opportunity to bask in it, running a hand through your hair, probing lips with a pen, or simply revelling in the heat of his eyes. But his gaze was too intense and you slipped up, your eyes involuntarily drawn to his own.

And he didn't break the stare.

So, _What? _You had asked.

He had seemed to inhale, quickly, mulling the oxygen around in his blood, before speaking again.

_If I were to ask you, _he said in a voice barely above a whisper, _to come somewhere with me, _he eyes had seemed to become darker, _would you?_

You had remember the intensity of the atmosphere around the two of you. It changed twice in a few short moments. The first was when you had burst into a fit of giggling and shook your head at him, choosing to focus, not on the way he had said it, or the way he had _looked_ at you, but at the sheer ridiculousness of his outburst.

_God almighty, Harry. _Nonchalantly, you brushed off anything remotely uncomfortable. _You really should have been a comedian. Do you still want that stapler?_

When you had reached across to hand it to him, is when the atmosphere had changed again. You look him dead in the eye once again and didn't quite understand what you saw. He looked suddenly depressed, hurt, disappointed.

_No. _He had almost barked in your general direction before standing and marching from the room. You had thought no more of it of course. It was certainly not the first time this enigmatic man had confused you beyond belief.


	5. No eulogies

"_Leo, no eulogies."_

**This sounded bitter again to me, not just that she doesn't want to hear his name, but she doesn't want to hear anything good said about him. I don't imagine they fell out before he left, I just that everything she wishes she'd said is rotting her inside out. I also thought it was a nice contrast. At the start of the previous episode she was singing Leo's praises...but she wont hear _anything_ good said about Harry!**

* * *

You were sick of it. Absolutely sick and tired of it.

Every day. Every _single _day until his departure had been filled with numerous visits, head of departments, Detective Chief Inspectors, students, all coming with newly prepared speeches to wish their beloved Doctor a fond farewell.

And they all had their little piece to say – which you and Leo were obliged to listen to and applaud – about how diligent, and kind and funny and understanding and intelligent and witty - and any other flattering adjectives they could come up with – Harry Cunningham was.

You despised it. _Loathed _it. And you would attempt to sneak out when you could. You were never sure if he noticed. He had asked if something was wrong one day, you had answered by suggesting perhaps you should leave a memory book at the door for people to queue up and sign.

The daily eulogies had torn you in two, however.

Part of you wanted to stand up in the middle of one of those shallow, overly-dramatic speeches and yell out at the top of your lungs that their very much adored soon-to-be professor was in fact a prize arsehole. He wasn't the magnanimous, intelligent, role model of a man that they all made him out to be, but in fact a selfish, lying bastard coward who wasn't simply moving onward and upwards to make something of himself, but running away because he was too scared to face up to his own feelings. What kind of man is it that puts his career before his _life_?

All these people came in and out and praise him to high heavens. And none of them gave _Leo_ a second look. Leo. Kind and caring and funny and gentle Leo. _He's_ never let you down. He's wise, but somehow down to earth at the same time. There is no one you could learn so much from. No one you'd rather _work_ along side. You would cast aside one million _Harry's _to work with _Leo..._any day.

But then, there's another part of you, a repressed atom of your soul that would claw at your heart to be freed, almost until it had broken in two, while you listened in silence. Positively a demon, and the cause of all your heartbreak. That part of you was longing to rise up from your chair, to the top of a mountain, or building, or even just to the centre of the office, and give your own eulogy. You would have spoken of a wonderful man, with a mind as bright as his eyes. A handsome, gallant gentleman who had always been there when you needed him. A man whose means were often as crooked as his smile, but with the biggest heart and the strongest soul you had ever met. A modern day superhero who would stop at nothing to find the truth. The only man on the earth you stand on, that you would have given everything to, without hesitation. Your best friend and the only man you have ever truly trusted, with _everything._

It would have been a thousand times better than any of those other ones.

Perhaps he had known that.

After your quip about the memory book, he had given a small laugh before asking, _When are you going to do me a speech? _When you hadn't replied, he had simply said, _Pity._ As he walked away, you are sure you heard him say under his breath, _Yours was the only one I was looking forward to._


	6. I'll look after it

**Hi everyone! First a HUGE than you for all the support in this new venture of mine! Guests and otherwise, I hope you all know who you are and how grateful I am to you! This one has taken a long time and its taken on a lot of different forms. Firstly, because it's a long quote and it took a while to concentrate it down and secondly, it was probably the most noticeable slip up in both two episodes and I wanted to get it right for you guys! Let me know what you think! X**

* * *

"_Shall I just chuck it?"_

"_No! No…I'll look after it."_

**She really looked like she wanted to cry, here. And I'm glad they did this because it really shows she is in denial about the whole thing. The way she says she'll 'look after it' makes it sound like she thinks he's coming back. Even the way she stops Jack in his tracks is almost aggressive, or protective of his things, his **_**desk.**_

* * *

Perhaps it wouldn't have been as counterproductive as you had envisaged at the time.

I hadn't been intentional…_to begin with._ You had been unfamiliar with the Lyell centre and its inhabitants and so had simply sat yourself wherever you could.

And he had made it very plain that you should _not_ sit _there._

At first, when you hadn't had a chance to gauge his humour – and find that it matched your own perfectly – you had thought him rude and unreasonably childish. But like most other things about him, you had got to know him a little, and began to find it endearing, if not slightly _odd_. You had quickly learned of the attention he would bestow upon you if you were to merely sit in the wrong seat.

Perhaps it was wrong, girlish, indulgent to seek attention in such a way…

But it had been the ice-breaker of your friendship and – if you are not very much mistaken – the catalyst for your love.

But of course, at the time, you would never have told him that; on one of the many days when he had cracked and uttered those _five little words_ that summed the two of you up, as two beings melted together to one entity, causing heartache, complications and unnecessary need and attachment, with a _simple sentence_.

_You're sitting at my desk._

His arms were folded and he was standing ominously in the entrance of the office.

You had stuck up for yourself, playfully, _They're both the same, anyway!_

_Exactly!_ He had exclaimed and you had found it hard to suppress a smile. Keeping your eyes firmly glued to the computer screen, the next thing you knew, his laptop was dumped on top of your files and his shoulder was touching yours.

_What are you even-?_ You tried to question him, only to turn and find him booting up the laptop, next to you, on your own office chair.

_If you won't move, _He started, _then we'll just have to learn to share._

You had giggled giddily when you had realised how close your faces were. When he exhaled, you could feel the air on your cheeks. You could _smell_ him. His eyes were so fixed on yours it was almost hypnotising.

He had glanced down, then. At your lips, and once he had subliminally planted the idea in your head, it was very hard to think of anything else. You began to burn and ache for him to just _do it already_ and you had thought seriously about slapping him when he opened his mouth and broke the spell.

_Tell you what…_

You gave him a weak smile.

_If I'm ever…not here…_

You had frowned at him. Perhaps your reply had been naïve all the same,

_You'll always be here, Harry. _

You had watched him intently – still a little obviously infatuated – and he had agreed and said, _okay then, when I…spontaneously combust through contempt for this place…_You laughed again…_anything and everything I leave on, in and under this desk, is yours. _Faces still just inches apart you had reacted with melodramatic raised eyebrows and the two of you had shared a smile.

_If you two can stop making eyes at each other for five seconds we've actually got an arrival…_Zak. He swept in and out of the office flashing a dashing smile in the direction of Harry, who had moved completely, suddenly, _heart-breakingly _out of your personal space. You were used to their little digs at each other; Zak pushing his luck, Harry putting him in his place. But something in Harry's face had suggested to you that it wasn't the first time this particular _tease_ had been brought up.

_Yeah…right. _Harry had shouted in reply. And it stung just a little more than it should have. Had you _wanted_ him to be making eyes at you? But it was soon forgotten when he had turned back to you.

_You're a sweetheart. _You rose from your chair and messed his hair up on the way round to your desk as you spoke. Then you'd asked, _You'd really do that for me?_

_For you, _He replied, blowing a stray piece of hair from his forehead, _anything._

Then you had left the office.

* * *

You had often wondered if he remembered that conversation, particularly in the days after he left.

_Why would he?_ You'd shared stupid conversations like that every day. Why would he have remembered that one? A_ny_ of them for that matter?

…But perhaps you would take care of his stuff, just in case he had left you something amongst it; a letter, a necklace, a _secret_.

You've been watching too many films…


	7. But you'd already left

_"I wanted to give you my card at that weekend thing, but you'd already left."_

**So this is my take on how Nikki and James first met, just a little insight into Nikki's reaction to this particular sentence and why James maybe didn't get a chance to make a move... Just by the by, was anyone else really upset by **_**'Legacy'**_**? I honestly thought James was a nice guy, and he's probably gonna die now and Nikki didn't seem to care at all! His Dad was the utter bastard, not him! It just really got to me, but apparently 'BBC' and 'Happy ending' just don't go well together.**

* * *

_Remind me exactly why I'm here again?_

You had given him a withering look, whilst unpacking your things. You weren't like _Harry_; placing a single textbook precariously on the lectern and chatting away fairly relaxed, only referring to it once or twice throughout just didn't cut it for you. No, you had to be thoroughly prepared, cue cards, bullet points, notes, files, books, journals…if you were going to do it right.

_Moral support! _You had informed him, glancing down at the bulging briefcase he was carrying, _and to be my pack-mule, of course._

He had rolled his eyes and you had laughed. You knew he wouldn't have missed it for the world; if not for the chance to spend the day with you, then for the opportunity to skive a day or two off work. You just simply knew him too well.

Despite your exasperation at his ulterior motives – as he gently squeezed your shoulder, wishing you _Good luck, I'll go sit at the back_ – you couldn't help feeling that you couldn't possibly do this sort of thing without him.

And so as you had waited for the congregation to sit and the chat to dissipate, you had looked to the back row, where Harry, and just one other – rather smart – looking gentleman had sat, Harry had winked and you had swallowed your nerves.

* * *

No matter how skilled and knowledgeable in your field you became, you will always be relieved when it's over.

The food and drink afterwards has always been your favourite part.

You find yourself alone in the lobby of the conference building having packed away your monstrosity of research and the gentleman from the back row approaches you.

_Dr Alexander. _A statement, rather than a question and there was a quietly confident aura about him that you couldn't help feel drawn to. _James Embleton, junior science minister. _You smiled and shook his hand, warm, not sweaty, just pleasant, quite soft. You returned his greeting. _Nikki Alexander, forensic pathologist. _For a moment the two of you had simply stood together, listening to the hundreds of conversations taking place in the space around you, all merging into one inaudible murmur of voices.

_Funny isn't it, _he broke your musings, _why do we always define ourselves by occupation? Surely it shouldn't make us who we are…_

You had turned to look at him then, intrigued by his slightly eccentric train of thought, it was a little bit like yours.

Then the _second _gentleman from the back row had rocked up.

_That was good, very well done. _His hand had lightly touched the small of your back, otherwise you're not sure you would have known he was addressing you, as his slightly suspicious looking features were glued to his opponent.

For a moment, you had felt slightly panicked as you looked from one man to the other. It was Harry's expression that unnerved you, as you couldn't quite decipher it and you had no idea what he was going to do next. _Harry…_His name had left your lips before you had a chance to stop it, in a quiet, slightly wary tone. _This is James Embleton. James, Harry Cunningham, _you recovered quickly, and with as much grace and serenity as you could muster, you had stepped back to allow them to meet…

…Only to look over and find your new acquaintance's expression mirroring that of your best friend.

_Lord Embleton. _He introduced himself with the same friendly intonation as he had with you, only his voice seemed to have dropped a pitch or two.

_Dr Cunningham. _Is the curt reply. And they had nodded to one another. No hand shake.

After a few seconds, James addressed you once again. _Right, well, _he began, slightly more upbeat than he had been. _I believe we are neighbours on the seating plan, Dr Alexander so I will talk to you later, It was lovely to meet you_, he concluded and left you with a smile, his eyes lingering over you for a moment too long. _And you,_ you had replied, your eyes darting radically from James warm gaze, to Harry's intense, enigmatic expression.

And then, he was gone and you had breathed a great sigh of testosterone ridden relief.

And then you had asked Harry, who was still staring after James Embleton, _What the hell was that?_

Suddenly, he had flicked back, back to normal and nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders at you.

You tried again. _Do you know him?_

The reply had eventually come; _No_. And with a glint of something unreadable in his eye, _It's just a guy thing, don't worry about it. _

You're not stupid, and you caught on to what he meant quite quickly; _He was just being nice, I was standing here on my own, he was just making conversation!_ And Harry's snort at this had aggravated you ever so slightly. He always had to be in control, had to be right. Just because you were a woman and _James Embleton _was a man, didn't necessarily mean he was coming onto you. Though you can't deny it had felt a little more than just comforting to know Harry had your back.

_I saw the way he was looking at you in there. Pretty obvious what he's after…_

You had kept up the pretence, all the same, challenging him, _And what? That's a bad thing? Why should I have to explain myself to you, anyway?_

Again, you're not stupid. You were 34 years old at the time, you'd been part of this game for near enough 20 years. You knew what you were doing. You knew exactly what was going on between you and Harry and you knew exactly what was going on in his mind right at that very moment.

He glanced at you, looking more than slightly pissed about _something,_ but you knew him well enough to know there was a smile hidden under there, a secret one, just for you. You took the tease a little further, just to see how far you could push him.

_Well, at least I'll get an uninterrupted chat with him at dinner…_You glanced up to gage his reaction. Stoic. With perhaps a few more years' experience than you, he was also very skilled at this particular _grown-up_ game.

_Actually, you won't. I took the liberty of swapping your tag with the delightful, slightly lopsided gentleman who was to sit next to me. Couldn't leave you over there on your own, could I? _With his comic wriggling of the eyebrows and his magnanimous stance; chest puffed out, hands on hips, you couldn't bear to be angry with him, chuckling deeply and taking his arm as the crowd began to make their way through to be seated.

_Here's me thinking you'd just find me a nice little pub! _Your smile slowly deteriorated when you realised the weight of your words, though it didn't seem to faze him, as he simply rested his hand on yours on his forearm.

* * *

When you whispered a humorous comment in his ear, he barely laughed at all. When you tried to make conversation, he was distant. While everyone else had relaxed into absent minded chatter, he remained tense. In short, all night, he wasn't himself.

It may have been the wine talking – and the two of you had _a lot_ – but you were pretty sure it had something to do with a certain gentleman across the hall, who hadn't taken his eyes from you all evening.

You weren't just tipsy. You were properly _drunk_. You knew where you were, you could still see and control yourself pretty reasonably. But you had enough alcohol in your system, to slow your blinking until each time you did, it looked as if you were about to fall asleep, to tattoo a permanent, dreamy smile to your face for no apparent reason, to become uncharacteristically – and perhaps inappropriately – tactile with the man beside you. You were certainly at that dulcet stage of intoxication in which your feelings towards him had intensified dramatically, until it was at an almost volcanic level, too much to bear.

_You're very worked up…_You had stated the obvious, running a firm hand down the stiff muscles of his back. Your speech was slurred, low and husky, your eyelids low and you watched as he squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath in, as if trying desperately to resist something, as if his life had depended on it.

Eventually, gently, he had leaned back, off the side of his chair, until the top of his back was touching your bare collarbone, he hadn't put on any pressure, holding himself there, touching but not leaning, and allowed his head to loll back slightly, until his stubble-clad cheek rested against yours. He was just as drunk as you were. _Can we get out of here?_

You had smiled and couldn't help but mother him, leaning your arm on the back of your chair and tenderly stroking his hair, the thumb of your other hand repetitively stroking his upper arm. You had asked, W_hat? Before you do something unsuitable?_

_No… _He replied, his body was languid against yours and you couldn't help but feel slightly turned on; having his body so close to yours, pinning you to your seat. And yet he still felt edgy, heavy with concern, as if he couldn't relax. Momentarily, you had caught the eye of none other than James Embleton. Immediately you had blushed under the intensity of his stare and looked away, Harry hadn't yet finished his sentence_…before you do._

He helped you on with your coat and took your hand and near enough dragged you from the building, despite your protests that you had left everything from your lecture inside. Immediately, like some divine transformation, he seemed to loosen in every sense; he loosened his grip on your hand, his body seemed to shrink down slightly, his breathing was deeper and slower, and the creases on his face disappeared to reveal a relieved and relaxed smile.

_So, shall we find a pub? _He asked.


	8. Good for you

**Jesus god I need to get a life…**

* * *

"_It'll be good for you."_

**To me, this statement from Leo (**_**Legacy**_** part 1) was an obvious reference to Nikki's 'post-Harry blues'. It made me wonder if maybe something happened to really make Leo see how much she's hurting.**

* * *

To: Leo Dalton

Subject: New starts!

Leo and co,

Hope this finds you guys well and coping ok without me. Have there been changes? I know you were scheduled for another meeting with the bigwigs, Leo, If change is what they want, I'm sure you'll have no problem adapting. Speaking of which I'm settling in well over here. The job is very different of course, much more focus on academia and I'm quite surprised to find I'm enjoying it. Very warm welcome from staff and students alike, though I think they only want me for my accent…

The post mortems I carry out are mainly for teaching purposes and I'm finding that even I am learning as I go. New York itself, is just how it seems in the films…bloody noisy!

Hope to hear from you soon.

Best wishes to you all,

Harry.

* * *

The final two syllables had hung in the air, as if echoing, in the silent space of his office, bouncing from heeding face to face. It had felt somehow anti-climatic, he hadn't quite reflected the nervous excitement you had no doubt Harry had been typing with. An absolute must in the profession you shared with him, Leo was an expert at tactfulness and this situation was no different.

Sadly it didn't succeed in removing the sting, instead intensifying it, as a benzalkonium chloride wipe may feel on a raw and open wound.

But it wasn't the email itself that stung. Or the emotions – or lack thereof – held within it.

It was the receiver.

_Leo Dalton._

The acknowledgement – _again_, or lack thereof.

Leo_ and co._

Had you not existed?

Had you not mattered?

Had _he_ not cared?

The feeling that had usually only been a visitor of yours in the dead of night, away from prying eyes, at home, in the dark, was making itself known, crawling its treacherous, well-worn path from your heart into your lungs, holding them mercilessly in its grasp until you could barely breathe, to your lips, where it carefully took all control, seizing it from them until they are shaking uncontrollably, to your eyes, where the visitor gives way to the tides and tears brim at the edges. And the more you had blinked, the less you could see and the harder it was to regain composure. Impossible. In the end you had given up. So you had turned and slowly slipped from the room, fully aware that the eyes of the rest of the team were on you until you reached the locker room and closed the door behind you.

A knock. A knock. A gentle, gentle knock. _Nikki? _You lay facing the ceiling, back flat against the bench, arms raised, elbows locked at 30 degrees, hands locked together on your forehead, eyes tightly closed. It was just fatigue, that was all. Just fatigue.

Leo, in the door way, you saw him as you opened your eyes, an aching pain in your back where the wooden bars of the benches met with your bones. _Are you okay?_

_Yeah. _You had managed to sound fairly convincing you thought. Not even the slightest break in your words, though your expressionless face perhaps gave you away. _Just tired. _You insisted, _I'm fine, really._

_We're all adding a bit each to Harry's reply, _Leo informed you and you had felt a little bit of fury mix with your heart-stricken grief. They were all so _proud_ of him. So in _awe_. Little Harry, off to live the dream and become a success. They were still rallying round him even when he was thousands of miles away. He would have loved it, you thought. To know that he had caused such a fuss. To know that even if he didn't, _they_ would never let you forget him. _I don't think he'd really care to hear from me. _Your lip shook again and you felt Leo's weight on the bench above your head.

_Come on now, don't be such…such a girl. _His reply had been, a hint of humour there somewhere.

Then you had realised what a bitter, twisted old women you had become. You had _told _him to go. He had obeyed, and now you were resenting him for it. Somehow that didn't add up. But in the addled, troubled, and _in love _mind of a woman, of course it was perfectly reasonable to hate him. He should have known you well enough to know to do the opposite of what you said…on occasion.

Then you realised that was impossible. What was worse, your heartbreak was transforming your memory of him into a man you barely recognised. A selfish, hard-bitten, tactless monster when in fact he was none of those things.

_It's easier to hate him. _You had whispered your reply, so as not to waken the tears from their dormancy and you felt Leo's hand lightly on your arm. He was a wise man, such a wise, wise man, and he was to prove that to you now.

_Think about what you just said. _He said quietly and you frowned, still wallowing in your self-indulgent state, draped across the benches. _If you're finding this easy, then I dread to think how you feel the rest of the time._

And you realise he's right. As usual. Perhaps if you had the strength and ability to be happy for him, life would become a bit easier for you, too. Surely to find peace in someone else's fulfilment, to smile at their successes and rejoice for their happiness, was the only kind of love that really existed. Love in its _truest _of forms.

His grip on your arm tightens and then he lets go completely; a squeeze of encouragement. _You'll get there, Nikki. I'll help in any way I can. _He smiles and you know immediately why you confided in him in Hungary. You give a sigh and stretch slightly, pushing the bad feeling down as far as you can and reply; _If only everyone was like you, Leo. _He gives a small chuckle and leaves you alone with your thoughts.


	9. You are Jealous

**God almighty.**

**I'm sticking with **_**Greater Love (part 1)**_** for now so we don't have to think about…y'know…The other stuff that happened. I will tackle **_**that**_** at some point, but right now I really can't!**

**I found these ones really difficult because there was so much material in that one little scene with Nikki and Leo that it has turned into separate quotes and separate back stories for me. So I apologise if they overlap or confuse anyone, I've tried to be a succinct as possible!**

**Any feedback you have would be lovely! Or if you just want a grieving buddy, I'm here for yah xxx**

* * *

"_You, are jealous."_

**Okay so this isn't a subtext. But what is she jealous of? Love, or the fact that they have a baby? I wanted to explore when this started because I hadn't really seen 'screen Nikki' (not 'fic Nik') as very maternal at all until this series. I hope I do this justice, it was an absolute gift!**

* * *

_Tick. Tock._

_Tick. Tock._

Those days, it was as lurid as the metallic drip of the cold tap in your kitchen. They seemed to keep in time with one another, joining together to announce each passing second with a momentary echoing din which seemed to shake the world beneath your feet until you could barely maintain your balance.

_Tick. Tock._

_Tick. Tock._

It became more of a pendulum. A heavy, copper pendulum, throwing itself from side to side, reaching out and only just maintaining balance. Reaching and grabbing at hopes, dreams, memories adorning the collage of your prime, taking one at a time and ripping them each to shreds. Each and _every _time.

_Drip. Drip. Tick. Tick._

You got the kitchen tap fixed.

The ticking soldiered on alone. Un-phased by the abandonment.

Bit like you, really.

_Tick. Tock._

_Tick. Tock._

Chants the biological clock.

It had crept up on you.

Against the hazy, dreamlike backdrop of South Africa, you dissected your decomposing, much adored pets while your peers played with dollies and prams.

After your degree, your friends paired up; each passing month another left hand was claimed by an overbearing, sparkling diamond. You went home. Your energy was poured into your work, your training, and you would smile politely as friends announced their new arrivals and then disappeared into a dull, dreary world of nappies and sleepless nights. You didn't envy them then.

And yet, _they _were the ones still smiling, while you stood over a putrid corpse, found in a lonely, badly decorated flat, having lain for a fortnight, only found because the family below reported an _unusual smell. Alone._

_They _were the ones who had someone to love unconditionally. Someone to belong to, belong _with,_ someone who would if fact _notice_ if they were to decompose. And _you _were the one repressing the desolate, empty feeling in your stomach as Leo covered up the body of Helen Karamides' most recent case;

A three month old infant.

It had woken feelings in you that you hadn't known existed.

Perhaps they had always been there, really, since you met _him_ and subliminal seeds began to be sown. This was in fact the first slip up of your subconscious.

And _he_ had noticed. Perhaps because he felt the same.

A hand had gently squeezed your shoulder and you had to supress a lustful shudder as he held it there and continued to walk, until he had almost wrapped you up entirely. He soon left you cold again though, removing his tender hold on you, yet remaining intimately close. Anything other would have been _inappropriate_. You wouldn't have complained, of course.

What you felt for him seemed to glow from your every pore in moments like these. Moments in which he was so attentive that he wouldn't even ask you for your thoughts or troubles and would simply watch you for a while. Moments in which he would know _exactly_ what was wrong, despite you not having uttered a word and despite there being a multitude of things that could have been bothering you. Moments in which he would hit the nail right on the head by saying something so unusual, you would barely register that you wanted to hear it.

_One day, you'll make an excellent mother_, he had said that particular time, in the corridor, looking out through the glass, hands clasped to the railings, and you had felt your body sag ever so slightly. Relieved? Or deflated?

You had intended to be lucid in your reply. _Well, only if I find someone worth – _but you had turned to him and stopped dead mid-speech. That kind of proximity was something you had never gotten used to with Harry, being that close to him was somewhat like experiencing gravitational pull. You had occasionally considered not fighting it so hard…

But it hadn't just been that. It had been the way he had looked at you, in a way he hadn't looked at you before. If you were not very mistaken, in a way you had not witnessed him look at _any _woman before.

That was exactly it.

He was looking at you as if you were most certainly not just _any _woman.

He had looked at you as if he knew something you didn't. As if your story, the story of you and him had been presented to him as one of those beautiful classic, hardback books with the material cover and the musty smell, and he had read it, cover to cover.

_No babies, _he had whispered. You had replied with a barely coherent, _What?_

_I'll talk to Leo. _His voice was still gentler than normal; quiet. Almost secretive. _I'll tell him it's one rule we're not willing to negotiate, shall I? If he wants to do these cases, he'll have to give us those days off, yes?_ Unable to speak, you had nodded your reply.

_Might be too close to home, one day; _His final eight words and he leant in and lightly kissed your temple. Before you had a chance to lean into his touch, he left back through the double doors.

Ever since then, you ached.

You ached when you saw women; staff at the university, visitors to the Lyell centre, even strangers in the street, a hand spread protectively on their disproportionate, swollen, uncomfortable looking stomachs.

You envied the secrets they held. They were each being stretched almost to their very limits. They were sacrificing their sleep, their health, their comfort, their leisure, to carry a weighty entity in their stomach for the best part of a year. They would soon have to endure the most pain one _can_ endure.

…And yet, each and every one you saw had one thing in common, aside their contorted skin.

They all _glowed_.

They glowed with a happiness and a beauty unlike any other. Their smiles were a constant beam of light in the dull world around them.

None of it seemed to make sense to you. It confused you, while making you positively sick with envy.

You are a scientist. You don't take well to perplexities and paradoxes and things you do not understand.

You _hated_ them. You hated them for the relentless, uncomplicated, unconditional love they would soon realise. They would be in charge of a tiny human being, completely in love and dependant on them, and they would love it in return because it encompasses everything that is familiar to them; _themselves_ – oh, to see your own eyes, but younger, fresher, innocent, reflected back at you – and the love of their life; their protector, lover, companion and soul-mate.

The would not only have that _love_, but they would be given a _chance. _A chance to put right all that had been wrong with their own upbringing. A chance to do it the way they wished their own parents had. _That _was invaluable.

That's what you want; a triangle. Someone to love you, and for you to love in return. And then someone else composed from that love. Someone to cement you together in a tie of love and blood, never to be broken. To cocoon you in a haven where you belong for longer than the world will ever last.

Then you realised how much you had changed for him _without even realising._

The clothes you wore, your appearance. Before, you barely cared about how men saw you in the trivial material you covered yourself with. Growing up in strong heat meant clothes had a purpose of protection, rather than attraction. But being in his presence every day had resulted in a good half an hour each morning, or the previous evening, picking out an outfit for the following day, keeping a careful eye on your hair, keeping it in check. You hadn't even noticed yourself becoming more feminine with each passing day. It was almost embarrassing. You had turned into another subject of one of David Attenborough's nature programmes.

_And here we see the female of the species, putting on a show of extreme vanity, in the hope of attracting herself a mate, in order to populate her habitat with her offspring._

The thought of that natural, organic, turn of events doesn't scare you anymore.

What scares you is the thought of never having it.


	10. Still a believer

" _I want to believe in this stuff. But everything I've learned…every marriage I see-"_

"_Nikki, don't."_

"_What? You're still a believer?"_

"_In love? Yeah."_

"_Look around you. All these names. They're only here because people loved them…however much we screw up."_

* * *

**So we already know, Nikki isn't the average scientist. She wants to believe in something 'other'. I think this shows however, that Harry's departure has robbed her of magic and romance and belief in all that stuff. Leo here I think knows Harry 'screwed up' and yet he still believes…wonder why that is!? Maybe this….**

* * *

You're not there, when the conversation takes place.

Perhaps, had you been, you would have suffered a lot less heartache.

Or perhaps a lot _more_.

That was exactly Leo's dilemma when deciding what to tell you. In the end, he decided not to tell you anything. You were like a daughter to him and one of the most precious people in his life. In almost any situation he would rather keep something from you, if it meant lowering the risk of hurting you, any day.

Had he chosen otherwise, he perhaps would have started his anecdote by telling you about how he had felt quite subdued that night, for obvious reasons, and he had poured himself a generous glass of whiskey to see him through the evening in a chair with a good journal.

The night before Harry Cunningham left the country.

Then he would have divulged his surprise when he heard the door bell, spilling a drop of his tipple onto his sleeve.

He was still trying to wipe it off when he reached the door and opened it tentatively, to be met by Harry's sorry face.

He would have told you – though of course you already knew – how he never had a son and how he had often wondered what it would have been like to have one; to have the same closeness and connection with a child that Theresa had with Cassie. Then Harry had come along and it had been like having a son and best friend and a prodigy all rolled into one. So of course he had let him in.

He perhaps would have described how uncomfortable Harry had looked. Even as he sat down, he perched on the edge of the sofa, jacket still on his back, hands shoved unnaturally into his pockets. He had put it down to stress with the move and inability to settle.

Perhaps he would have told you how this was the first time since Harry had told you both, that he had heard him speak of the _big move_ in such a negative fashion. He could have told you Harry was hesitant, nervous looking, on edge, as if he had cold feet. But he doesn't, remember, because that would have been unfair to you.

He may have explained how he had told him to _Calm down, relax, Harry. _And persuaded him to _Have a whiskey?_

He then may have described how he had poured out the whiskey, perhaps a little more than a double, and handed it to Harry, and how they had sat in silence for a good 5 minutes, sipping occasionally. Harry had sat further onto the chair, but had almost completely folded; elbows on knees, white, tense fingers spread over the expanse of the whiskey glass.

Leo may then have told you how he had brought up the subject of _you._

_I thought you would have been at Nikki's_… is what he had said. Perhaps you would have been hurt at Harry's reaction; squeezing closed his eyes and standing, walking to the window, his back to his boss.

Leo would have told you what Harry had said, or the rest of the story wouldn't have made sense.

_Can we not talk about her, please?_

He didn't question further, and another silence had descended. Leo would then have told you that it was Harry who finally spoke, into air thick with unspoken confessions, to no one in particular;

_God I'm so stupid._

Perhaps you and Leo would have shared a laugh at this. He had breezed through medical school from what you could tell, landed himself with a first. He continued to impress in the working world so much so he specialised in pathology for more of a _challenge_. He instantly got a job at the Lyell centre, where the amount of papers he had contributed to, and the number of ground breaking scientific discoveries he had been part of were well into double figures by the time his immaculately hand-written letter of resignation found its way to Leo's desk. Harry Cunningham was _anything_ but stupid.

_Why?_ Leo had instantly questioned, perplexed.

Harry had turned then, and Leo had watched as he slumped back down into the sofa, like a defeated, weary warrior, head in his hands. _She goes against everything I thought I believed, _was spoken very quietly, muffled by his hands.

Leo had stayed silent, waiting for him to finish, and finish he had. Finally.

_I've loved her since the very first moment I laid eyes on her._

Leo may have explained to you after that, Harry hadn't elaborated. Leo may have chosen to tell you his own understanding of Harry's words. _He_ for one knew Harry's type; volatile, confident, sassy women, often curvaceous and brunette. Then along you had come and knocked him for six. And what could explain it? _Fate?_ If so, that did indeed contradict everything he stood for. Science is about _proof_. Fate couldn't be proved.

Perhaps the fact itself that Leo kept this from you shows his weakness for you, especially when it came to your tragic, unsung love for your ruggedly handsome colleague. This softness of heart however, didn't stretch to the man in question.

Leo was nothing if not a gentleman, a ground breaking scientist, yes, but when it came to _love_, there was a certain _old fashioned_ etiquette that should be followed.

Harry hadn't followed it.

Knowing him like you do, you could have guessed for yourself the tone he had used in his retaliation; _you had long enough, Harry. It's not like you haven't had the chance, is it?_

Maybe he would then have described to you, gently, how Harry had reacted, running a hand quickly through his hair and bursting out of his chair again. It had been as if he were possessed; carrying a heart so full of silent feelings had finally become too much for him to bear.

Or perhaps he would have just straight out told you what he said, word for word;

_Do you remember when she first turned up at the lab? I do, because I couldn't think of anything else, to the point where I wasn't sure what I'd do if you'd kicked her out. Everything about her just…feels right! Even before I really knew her! I don't know how else to describe it! She's like…that millisecond just before you wake up on Christmas morning as a child…or…a firm handshake when you've helped an innocent man walk free or…that moment of stillness just after summer rain, when the streets gleam and everyone's gone indoors and the leaves on the trees look so fresh and relieved and everything is so fucking beautiful! That's what she feels like! To me! And I tried, Leo! I wanted to take it somewhere and then I screwed it up! But it was after that, after that she somehow became the most precious thing, the most breakable thing, and…just…she's so wonderful at falling and I'm…I'm just no good at catching. _

_And I wish that wasn't the way of it but it is, Leo, and I've already proved it. She deserves something so, so much more extraordinary than that. If she finds it with someone else, I mean 'really' finds it…then good. But my only aspiration in this life is to learn how to catch…just in case she doesn't._

Leo was a cultured man. He had been to many a good resurrection of a Shakespeare play. He could have told you that despite his decades of experience, in love, in life, in death, in heartbreak, that was the most profound thing he had ever heard. Never had he heard such truth, such passion and complete, unadulterated and unconditional devotion. He had expected it from play after book after wedding and had been disappointed each time. He _hadn't _expected it from a thirty-something bachelor, bed-hopping, pathologist from London.

He could have told you how, despite a tearful, fond goodbye, he had fallen asleep that night with a broad smile on his face, _safe, secure_ in the knowledge that true beauty _did_ exist in the world around him. Despite the war and suffering and death he saw on a daily basis, there was light, hidden away in the cracks of a fruitless human existence.

He could have left you standing in the middle of that little church in Acton, gawping and barely able to breathe; shocked, nonplussed and troubled by his words.

…instead he chose not to.


	11. What will survive of us is love

"_That's what lives on…_

_What will survive of us is love."_

* * *

**Okay, we're all very sensitive right now. I'm not gonna get into it because if I start ranting I won't stop and then I'll probably start crying so anyway. I hope to some extent Nikki thinks about these words and acts on them in the near future…**

* * *

And so you look back on the past year of your life; things you have said, things others have said to you, conversations, moments, as if it had been your _own_ death on that lonely little hill in Afghanistan.

It had been, in a way. The death of an _era_ at least.

You look back, reflecting, and you notice how each of those little moments – that seemed to matter so little to you at the time – were in fact bound inexplicably to your life here. To the past.

And suddenly, it is as if _everything _had been leading to this, all along. All the hopes, the fears, the regrets, the missed-moments, the lost chances, the passionate dreams, the devastating realities, the turmoil, all seem to tie together with moments of your life, seamlessly, in a loop, leading to the same place.

It simultaneously fills you with a devastating bleakness and a burning, tingling hope.

_The existence of fate is inevitable._

All those tiny _slips._ You had been too busy living them to see the undertone.

Thinking of it now, of course it could never have been mere chance; for Leo to leave you in the hands of such beautiful company;

Jack and Clarissa. The only people you have. The only ones who were there to pull you up when you slipped.

And yet _they_ shouldn't have been the ones to prop you up and give you strength at the funeral, and you know that only too well.

Even _they _know that.

Suddenly, Jack is in front of you, holding out the phone receiver to you, that look of sheer determination, resolve on his chiseled features, as has been the case for the past fortnight; guiding you, _telling_ you how it needs to be:

_He has a right to know, Nikki._

You should have done it before. It should have been your first instinct to call _him_. Yet you had come home and stayed alone, at home, occasionally glancing at the phone.

You had spent a day, sleeves rolled up, with Jack, clearing out the office, top to bottom. _Tomorrow_ you had thought. _I'll call him tomorrow._ The funeral came and went and you felt slightly angry again, as if he should have somehow _known_ and come home to support you.

_Punishment - Had you not left, you would have been here, wouldn't you? You would have known…_

But today's epiphany has changed your outlook. Suddenly, you feel somewhat stronger. Suddenly, you know the true meaning behind your own words, spoken - to fewer people than it should have been - in a quiet church in Sheffield.

Leo would not have approved of your scoring points and bitterness.

So, Jack offers you the phone, and like always, you reject it;

_No, Jack._

But for the _first_ time, you offer an alternative;

_Not like this…_

For the first time in a long time, you see a slight glint in Jack's eye as you turn away, take back control, switch on your computer.

_What are you doing? _Question.

_Booking a flight to New York. _What would become a life changing answer.

And then and there you book a round trip to J.F.K. International for the following evening, the power of Leo's dazzling kind soul surging through your heart, rushing through your veins, down into your fingertips as you type. Because, after all,

_What will survive of us is love._

* * *

You only book to fly out for a few days. Had you known the emotional impact those few days would have on you, on _both of you, you may have chosen to stay longer._

You haven't seen him in a year. They won't let you into his office and so you watch, as if he were some sort of caged attraction, as his keeper enters his domain and quietly entices him out with news of the arrival of an ex-colleague. His office is like James' was, cut off from the world with a glass pane.

Then he looks out. Straight at you.

The tears come again.

Because you see the confusion on his face, not yet fear and you can't bear to look at him when you are about to give him news that will destroy him. It seems almost inconceivable, now. Only a week ago, you had been 3,500 miles away from each other, something you wouldn't have expected to change any time soon. Now, all that stands between you and him, _the one great love of your life, is a single, thin glass pane._

_Pain._ You must look a mess, judging by his expression. You know you are pale, mottled, tired and weary looking, but he's seen you like that before. The difference now is the added content.

_Desperation. _He is the only person left.

He almost creeps through the doorway, as if your presence has resulted in the lobby being filled with blinding, burning sunlight and he is unsure how much of it he can take, how close he can get.

Becoming accustomed, he rubs his eyes and blinks a few times.

Your eyes are flooded, brimming and as you stand, you blink and the tears flow over, sticking to your eyelashes and wetting your cheeks. After that they keep coming. You can only just see him through the blur. You can see him enough to know he is no less handsome than when you last saw him. You can see him enough to know you don't have to speak. He is studying your face, fixated. So you simply stand, hands clasped, lips pressed tightly together, suppressing sobs as you watch the colour drain from his face, the sparkle dim in his eyes and he staggers back, clasping a hand over his mouth.

It is a rare gift; to be able to have a conversation without using one's mouth.

He is trapped, in a world he wishes to be a dream, where slowly but surely all he knew to be invincible and concrete is blown apart, _literally,_ horrifically, terrifyingly blown apart. You, as the carrier, can only watch.

_No._

_Oh dear god no._

You don't see it – because your eyes are squeezed tightly shut as he crushes you to him – but you _feel_ everything within him. How much he has missed you, how he has thought of you everyday since he left, his love for Leo, his connection – distance, differences, and continents aside – to the Thomas Lyell Centre and his colleagues, loves and dear friends within it. In fact, all the unspoken truths between you never need be disturbed now, you feel them all encased in that one embrace.

You hear him sob and you're not quite sure what to do. In situations when he has cried before, you have been solid, there for him to lean on, _objective _so to speak. This time, however, you are just as broken as he is. Consequently, neither of you strong enough to hold the other up, you both simply sink to the floor. The other people in the vicinity soon vacate after that.

Hands in hair, tears on cheeks, you stay like that for what could have been hours. Clinging desperately to one another.

You _cry._

You cry until your lungs hurt. Like you've never cried before in your life, because you are with the only person in the world who knows this grief like you do. You gasp and heave and shake against his shoulder and his shallow breathing and tears dampen your neck. One minute you hold his cheekbones against your palms and tell him that you shouldn't cry for him, the next you are clinging to his chest, begging him to tell you that everything will be okay. He doesn't.

Then, you _talk._

He wants to know it _all_, and doesn't seem to care that it so obviously hurts you to talk about it. So you play it over in your head, and it plays out much like it does when you close your eyes every night. Then you speak it aloud, with precision, diction and professionalism. You tell Harry how Leo had escorted Daniel from _life, love, water, me…and held him away, held him there. I shouted to him. He just looked at me. He looked desperate, not scared. Determined. I was looking right in his eyes when it happened. He told me to run, Harry._

Another tear slides down his sun kissed cheek as his head falls back against his office wall. He smiles slightly, and swallows hard, the way he always had when he was nervous or about to say something important…or _both._

_I owe that man my life. _He says to you, his voice raspy with the tears he has cried.

For a brief moment, you slip back into the comfortable banter you used to share with him.

_Actually, _you correct him, almost self-righteously, _if it hadn't been for his bravery, I would be the one never to see the light of day again!_

_Exactly. _He replies, his eyes boring deep into your soul, so intense he makes you blush. _I owe him my life._

Then, you _kiss._

Though not at first. To begin with, it is more a case of lips against lips, eyes firmly closed as if braced, breathing, existing, the only movement being your slowly intrepid hands, and his, as they clutch.

Clothes, hair, skin.

It is almost like leaving a well-lit house, to walk deep into vast countryside at midnight. It takes you both a while to become accustomed; there is a sense of unease in your ragged breaths, unsure of what lies ahead, something that could be dangerous and pleasurable in equal measure. In the end it is you that initiates _actual _kissing, softly pressing your teeth to his bottom lip. But he doesn't seem to mind.

You kiss him rather a lot, and when you try and stop he pulls you back. For a while, you allow yourself to give in to him, and in an attempt not to panic, you focus on showing him how much you love him; losing all sense of the rest of the world because in the end, what does any of the rest of it really matter? Work, money,_ death_...

And for the rest of the evening, not a word need be spoken, although he takes you gently by the hand and leads you the short walk to his apartment, a lot of _staring_ and _touching_ and _close proximity_ seems to more than make up for the absence of words. You don't question or doubt him when he dares to take it further still, slowly unbuttoning the front of your dress as your chest heaves slightly under his fingers.

It is slightly strange because had it happened in any other circumstance you would stop him. You would tell him that despite everything it is still too soon and that the two of you should ease each other into this gently. But Leo is dead and you need to be_ loved_, in _any_ sense at all and _quickly_ before you forget how it feels entirely, which would surely result in your own demise.

_What will survive of us is love._

So, tonight, you let him save your life.

* * *

You are almost the same as you once were. You and Harry. Harry and You.

The difference being you are now one ally down.

He still makes you laugh, just as he had before, only now he hungrily swallows down your mirth with deep, sensual, languid kisses that daze you no end. Now, when he looks at you in _that_ way, you unabashedly look back.

Almost a whole day has passed and you have been naked in his arms ever since, in his bed. In the short time he has left you - _to take care of a few things,_ he said - you have slept heavily; catching up on all the sleepless nights since you witnessed Leo's death. When he returns, his body is a totem for your own, cold and slender and shaking. His solidity clears your head and allows you to be present.

He asks, _do you know how beautiful you are? _His fingertips on your bare hip remind you of how tightly he was able to wind you, until you were almost screaming, a mixture of torture and love-making, with a rhythm so intense it became impossible to beat, ruining you for anyone's attention other than his.

You counteract him with your own question and you shock yourself at how vulnerable you sound; _where do you want this to go, Har?_

_I want to be able to tell you how beautiful you are anytime I like. _His words are spoken between kisses, or perhaps the kisses are between words. Either way, his confidence spurs on your own as he moves above you, you catch his cheek in your hand running a tender hand over his stubble;

_Just come home, Harry._

From what you knew of yourself – ironically, very little – you had never seen yourself as clingy.

But you saw him differently now.

How could you not? Now you know what he is capable of doing to you, how he can make you feel, you see him in a new, almost _holy_ light.

And that is why the following turn of events has the capability to turn everything on its head. Your pent up feelings for him are like _one thousand_ sticks of dynamite strapped to _his_ chest and this time, _Daddy _isn't here to escort him away from you.

He laughs._ He laughs and rolls back onto the mattress, leaving you frowning questioningly, feeling ever so slightly embarrassed._

_Please tell me you know things aren't as simple as that? _He encourages, and you say nothing.  
_Nikki, I can't just drop everything here – _

He starts to explain but you cut him off, cold and curt and you can immediately see that he doesn't know how to react. You have lost track of who is attacking who, and that was always a bad sign with the two of you. That was usually the point where you lost _control._

_- Well, you managed fine before!_

_Oh for Christ sake that is not the same thing! I planned coming here Nikki!_

_Ah yes. So you did. _Suddenly the anger is back. The anger you felt at the funeral, the anger you felt the days following his departure.

But this time, it has an extra sting. You are taken back, to your dark, damp, temporary second home in South Africa, your Mother watching as you open your final Christmas card and freeze for a moment, before ripping it up in a fiery temper, throwing it to the floor and stamping, crying. You feel the same raw, stabbing, aching, burning pain you felt all those years ago. You were just twelve years old, you didn't have the capacity to hate. _That _made it so much harder.

Night after night spent crying for him, sobbing and praying for him to just come _home._ You would _forgive_ him, you could _love _each other again. You just needed to be _held…_

_Happy Christmas Niks  
Love Dad x_

_If you loved me, you'd come home! _You wail it all out before the words have even been processed in your head.

You don't even regard his nakedness when he steps out of bed, pulling on some soft-material trousers, shocked and hurt by your words. You can see his thoughts through his eyes; he sees you as an intelligent, diligent, independent, _strong_ woman.

And he isn't going to understand his time.

_Oh no, _he shakes his head at you, his eyebrows lowering and his neck straining as his jaw clenches. _You know what? These childish, guilt trips might have worked on Leo without fail, but they will NOT work on me!_ The wild anger seems to take over him like a crashing wave through his conscious, until he barely seems able to think anymore. Still, you are not afraid of him. You think about moments last night when _you_ had made him wild and unable to think for other reasons…

Yet, that all seems forgotten, paling into shattering insignificance as you listen like an onlooker, your voices one after the other; back and forth, hurtling at dangerous speed towards what was now an inevitable conclusion;

_It's what he would have wanted! You're the only person who could ever even begin to know how to run that place!_

_But it's not about him, is it? It's about you! That's what you want! Nikki, of course I love you, but I'm done with the Lyell centre!_

_I can't do this without you! I can't be on my own!_

_They've already offered me the job, AND I SAID NO!_

He takes a shuddering breath of air and you both fall silent. So much emotion had gone into your _roaring_ you have tears in your eyes again; your face is most likely flushed. When you speak again, you are on the brink of collapse, your voice shaking and weak. You shrug, nonchalant. _So why am I even here, then?_

_Oh come on, Nikki, you didn't come all the way over here to 'bring me home, to take up the throne' or – _He stops dead when he sees your face - _…you did. Right. Fine. Of course you bloody did. Fucking hell…_

* * *

Even the low grumble of planes taking off overhead doesn't curb the silence that inevitably descends when he kills the engine.

He doesn't seem angry anymore. You, however, have lost all bearings, resigned to the fact that you will never have anyone that you can rely on completely, thus leaving you with two choices;

Die. Be weak.

Or keep going. Be _strong._

You quickly chose the latter, changing your flight to six hours earlier than planned, packing up what little you had removed from your case, and he drove you to the airport and all the while you are making lists, planning in your head, who you would need to talk to, the documents you would need to read and sign,

When you took over Leo's job.

_Nikki…_He says it in such a feeble and weak tone that you don't wait to hear anymore. You open the car door - he doesn't try and lock it - walk to the boot, open it, haul out your case, slam the boot shut and walk towards the airport entrance without so much as a goodbye.

He didn't try and lock the car, or get out and run after you…you can't quite decide if you had wanted him to or not…Perhaps it was better like this. Otherwise, he would have simply given you a half-hearted apology; _I'm sorry. Friends? _Something shallow, thoughtless and equally as upsetting as the previous conversation that he would be supposedly _apologising_ for. Because he wouldn't mean it. _Sorry? _He wasn't.

You couldn't have waited to hear it, lies, strung together with little terms of endearment from last night;

_Sweetheart. Angel. Princess._

Each one so very foreign when spoken from his lips, to _you,_ and yet they had the ability to make you feel inexplicably wanted, protected, _loved_ in a way you never have before. Terms of endearment made not for a grown woman but for a small girl, perhaps despite her lack of adult integrity to appreciate what the words really _meant_.

* * *

It's a miracle.

It's an absolute, godsend. A wonder, a marvel, a dream.

Professor Leo Dalton_ is _looking out for you.

By rights it shouldn't be; this is not the time, nor is it the place. It puts each and every one of your plans on hold, or perhaps destroys them completely. You are on your own and it hadn't been part of your life itinerary that you have kept to so strictly for so long.

But you hadn't realised how much you wanted it until it became reality.

Jack and Clarissa are in cahoots as always at his desk when you click past in your heels, grabbing your bag and coat on the way past from the open office, a satisfied, excited smile adorning your features.

_Ay! Bosses aren't allowed to skive off! _Jack has become more spirited of late, the dust was beginning to settle, a few months along, although the vast emptiness left by your mentor was far from filled. Standing in for him was harder than you had anticipated and coping with the workload while maintaining an upbeat atmosphere was difficult. You weren't suited to it. Leo hadn't moulded you for it. _Harry _had always been the one to step up when Leo was out of the picture, you know he struggled too, he had told you as much, and yet he had always handled it with dignity and an air of extremely attractive assertiveness.

Yes. As long as Harry Cunningham walked the earth, that job would never have been yours, anyway. Never mind.

_Oh, and Professor Alexander?_

He's teasing you now, though you know he is happy for you, they both are. They've seen you hit rock bottom in the past few months and it was their hands that had grabbed you, pulling, lifting and hauling you out from the black cavern that had threatened to consume you. They smiled at their own handiwork.

_I took a call earlier from the Principal, says she wants to speak to you about having you in charge around here…I'd give her a call back sooner rather than later._

Your reply is simple; _I don't want it anymore._

_What!? _

_The job. Leo's job. I can't take it._

_Why?_

Almost in sync, the two of them frown at you. You're sure they'll understand, eventually, that this simply isn't what you want, that what has happened is, yes, unconventional, but it's what you want. More than anything. You can't take on the Professorship.

Other things now have to take priority, because, after all,

_What will survive of us is love._

And _that_ is the legacy Leo has left you; not his _job_ or his _title_, but something infinitely more important and now that you have the opportunity to, you vow to protect it and live by it to the very best of your abilities.

_I think I'm having a baby._

You state, very matter-of-factly. Of course, the scientist in you tells you to remember that it is not certain. You haven't even taken a test yet but still…

You just somehow _know._

You leave your work colleagues in their state of shock, smiling because you enjoy being an enigma, and more so because you believe in the butterfly effect. Science or not, every action has an equal reaction as so there will never be anything to worry about. You know when you speak to the home office and the university they will be reluctant to hire someone who is planning on buggering off seven months down the line.

_Does science really feel? _Yes. If you let it. Love and magic exist and perhaps they are the reason science itself exists. The university will contact a greying professor in New York and tell him they are nearing their wits end trying to find a replacement, _What with Nikki, pregnant_, and his heart will almost stop_. _

_Moving on_, it can be made simpler; sometimes, letting go of the merry-go-round of your life and allowing it to spin freely means things come full circle right before your eyes. Without doubt, you know he will come back to you then, walking through the glass doors in a suit and tie and taking up the seat that was left shaped for him; _nothing to do with you, and everything to do with him,_ of course.

It is only human to feel _embarrassed to say the nice things that we think…or to hear them, _and yet sometimes words just aren't needed when you have a _connection_. He won't apologise, and you won't ask him to, but as he sits down at _his_ desk and straightens out his suit sleeves, he will wink at you and you will smile back through the glass, _eulogies _aside.

You'll take his things through to him at the end of the day, tell him you'd _looked after them_ and he'll tell you it would have been impossible for him to stay away any longer. And you'll forget about _James _and any other men pale into insignificance. He is the only thing that will ever be _good for you._

And when baby Leo Cunningham is brought shivering into the world, gasping for air to fill his brand new lungs, you will cling to him and even at his christening you won't let go, because this is _your _turn now.

And every night for the rest of your life you will fall asleep with a smile on your face and a tear in your eye and you will think about your father figure of ten years and thank him. Because of him, you are _still a believer._ In _love._

_That's what lives on…What will survive of us is love._

* * *

**Now, the ending is deliberately sort of...weird. It is Nikki looking into the future she **_**may**_** have, but all of it is based around the previous quotes from chapters of this story - which is now FINISHED. Partly because it's bloody draining and partly because the series is over! No more quotes! –**

**So, I'll leave it up to you to decide the ending for yourself. Do the fluff lovers among you trust and believe in Nikki and think that this is how things will pan out for her? And do you angsty gremlins think this is just Nikki losing her marbles having been rejected by everyone she has ever leant upon; her **_**slip **_**into insanity. After all, there is only so much sadness one person's sanity can take, surely! I'd love to hear what your thoughts are in a wee review!**

**I did leave it open ended though, so I can maybe follow on in series 17 (aaaahhhhh!) if it feels like the right thing to do!**

**Anyway, I'll leave you now, hope you enjoyed, thank you for all the support with this over the last month or so, really, I've been blown away! You guys really give me that wee boost that makes every day that little bit brighter!**

**Love and slightly creepy fanfic endings,**

**D.A. xxx**

**p.s. here's a wee disclaimer because I haven't done one for a while. I don't own anybody...just the concept!**


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